We Are The Youth Gone Wild
by BecomingScarlett
Summary: Inspiration taken from the movie Dog Pound and the TV show Prison Break. Elena is sentenced to spend the next 14 months in juvie for a crime she did not commit. When she is sent to Mystic Falls Juvenile Detention Center, which houses some of the most violent delinquents in the country, she meets Damon Salvatore. D/E. AU. AH. Rated M for language, violence, drugs, and more.
1. Chapter 1 Welcome to the Dog Pound

**I'm back! :) With a brand new Delena story for you lovely readers. I got the idea for this a week or so ago after watching the movie Dog Pound on Netflix. After thinking about it some more, I realized if I took a little inspiration from Prison Break, I could make a really cool TVD fic. I really hope you guys like it. Please let me know what you think! :)**

**-BecomingScarlett**

* * *

**We Are The Youth Gone Wild**

**Chapter 1: Welcome to the Dog Pound**

**.**

Skipping too much school. Vandalism. Fighting, like a lot. Pretty much any repetitive violent behavior. Theft. Grand theft. Grand theft auto, and I'm not talking about the videogame. Drug possession, abuse, distribution, and any other drug-related activity. Same goes for gang activity. Arson. Possession of or wielding a deadly or violent weapon. Obviously, rape and murder.

Those are some of the many, many delinquent acts that a person under eighteen can be locked up in juvenile detention for committing. Those are all very valid reasons to spend a little time behind bars. Those are all things I am innocent of…And yet I'm being sent to juvie to await trial for one of those very awful things.

I never thought I'd find myself in this position, never even entertained the idea of doing something so horrible I'd end up getting arrested. I could probably accept my punishment if I'd actually committed the crime, but knowing the truth and being unable to convince a single soul of my innocence is the worst part. What ever happened to being innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt? Does that right not apply to me? Is there a different set of rules for juveniles that I was unaware about? If my parents were here, they would vouch for my innocence. They wouldn't allow me to be locked away for fourteen months under completely false accusations.

If my parents were here, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. It is because they aren't here that I'm being sent away from the only home I've ever known. It is because they died and I lived and there is nobody else to care for me. It is because somebody looked at that horrible accident and decided that I was the cause of it all, simply because I'm the only one who made it out of the water alive that night. I know that I should have died with my parents, _I know that_, but I'm still here, and despite what Judge Tanner and the police say I did _not _cause the accident. I did _not _kill my parents!

**.**

"I hereby sentence Elena Gilbert to spend the next fourteen months in Mystic Falls' Juvenile Detention Center," Judge Tanner announces to the room, which mainly consists of him, a prosecution lawyer, a bailiff, my lawyer, and me, "At which point, she will turn eighteen, and the case will be re-assessed. If it is taken to trial at that time, Miss Gilbert will be tried as an adult in the state of Virginia. Are there any questions?"

I am unable to do much more than stare in shock and squeeze my hands together so tightly that I am quite sure I'm not dreaming right now. It's too bad this isn't a nightmare. It is the sad truth, and it is fucking terrifying.

"Miss Gilbert?" Judge Tanner repeats my name, looking down at me from his podium with those beady little eyes of his.

I half shrug my shoulders while shaking my head and manage to whisper, "No…no questions."

"Very well," Tanner says before banging his gavel against the wooden podium, "Case dismissed. Next hearing will begin in fifteen minutes." He then rises from his chair and exits through the back of the room and into his private chambers.

I feel like the ground beneath my feet is spinning off its axis. It keeps turning and turning, faster and faster, until everything around me is a blur and I have to close my eyes. I try and take a deep, steadying breath, but my body is in too much of a panic to obey. My stomach begins to churn and I can feel the acids surging upwards.

"Elena…" My parents', and now my, lawyer Richard Lockwood places a strong hand on my shoulder and speaks to me soothingly, "Don't worry. We knew this would happen. We discussed this, remember? You have nothing to worry –"

Suddenly, my stomach lurches, and I slap my hand over my mouth as I rip myself from my seat and sprint towards the doors of the courtroom. Out in the hall, I quickly locate the bathroom and burst inside, kneeling in front of the toilet just as the contents of my stomach start spilling from my mouth. So much for that hearty breakfast of French toast, scrambled eggs and bacon. I rinse my mouth out with cold water from the sink and run a damp paper towel over my face. Then, I run a shaky hand through my hair and meet my reflection's gaze in the mirror.

I am white as a ghost. My brown eyes are dark and sunken in my face. My cheeks are dull and lifeless, as are my lips. My shoulders are slumped in defeat. I look awful. I suppose I should look awful, though. My parents died one week ago today, and I very nearly died with them. The car accident that took their lives put me in the hospital for six days. I was only released last night, when Richard brought me to his home to prepare for my trial today. I am still weak and healing from the injuries I sustained in the accident. I also haven't had proper time to grieve for the loss of my parents. Everything happened so quickly, and now that I'm being sent to juvie I don't have any time to process any of this.

The knock on the bathroom door pulls me from my thoughts, and I take one last glance in the mirror before re-joining Richard in the hallway. It was him knocking on the door. He was worried about me.

"Are you all right?" He asks, his aging face showing concern.

"As fine as I can be, considering…" I reply, not wishing to go into detail about vomiting in the bathroom or my feelings on the current situation. I'm terrified about being sent to juvie. I'm sick to my stomach over it, clearly torn up inside, and if there was anything I could do to change Judge Tanner's mind I would do it, but the decision has been made. There's nothing I can do but accept my fate.

Richard nods, commenting sincerely, "I wish there were more I could do for you, Elena. I wish there were somewhere else you could go."

"Richard," I interrupt before he continues, "It's not your fault. We both knew this would be his sentencing. I understand that since I have no other family there weren't any options for me. I get it. I…I don't blame you." It is hard to say the words, since part of me does blame Richard. He was my parents trusted lawyer but he was useless for me. It wouldn't be kind to say that to him, though, and besides it really isn't his fault. He didn't accuse me of driving my parents' car off the bridge and into the river. It was the police who did that. He believes I'm innocent; at least, I think he does.

Richard sends me a sympathetic look through his blue eyes and assures me, "Everything will work itself out, I promise you that. There is no case to take to trial. The police have no evidence to use against you, nothing that proves you meant to drive the car off the bridge that night. As far as I'm concerned, it was an accident, case closed. The police will reach that conclusion before your time in Mystic Falls' is up, and you will be released when you turn eighteen and resume your normal life. You just have to make it through the next fourteen months, and stay out of trouble. You hear me?" He pauses, looking me dead in the eyes to ensure I am listening to his words.

"Yes," I nod.

"Stay out of trouble," Richard repeats, firmer this time. "It is so important that you remember this. One wrong move in there, Elena, and that can change the police's entire view of you. You don't want to become a troublemaker in a place like Mystic Falls Detention Center. I can't help you if you do."

"What are you saying?" I ask him slowly, "Are you saying that if I make a mistake in there I might change their minds and they'll take my case to trial anyways? Even without evidence? I don't understand." Panic seizes me again and I find I'm having a hard time breathing.

"All I'm saying," Richard says in that sickly calm tone of his, "is that things will go immensely easier for you if you stay on the good side of Mr. Michaelson, the warden at Mystic Falls'. If you can prove to him that you're a good kid, he will pass along the message. He can help clear your case. But if you work against him, if you cause trouble for him in his institution, then he can also make your life miserable. Don't forget it."

**.**

Being my lawyer and all, Richard is allowed to 'counsel' me for a whole hour after my hearing ends before he must leave me in the hands of a court officer named McKittrick. Richard reminds me over and over to keep my nose clean and not mess up. He also promises to visit me with Mrs. Lockwood at least once a month, and that I can call him or Carol whenever I'm allowed and they will answer. Before becoming my parents lawyer, the Lockwoods were good family friends, and since my parents are dead and I have no other living relatives, they are now the closest thing I have to family. Richard hugs me tightly before he goes.

After he's done saying goodbye, McKittrick leads me away from Richard and down the hall to a room which has two empty holding cells along one wall and a large L-shaped desk along the other. Using a black card attached to a keychain which hangs around his waist, McKittrick unlocks the cell with a swipe of the card. The lock clicks, and McKittrick slides the cell door open and motions for me to step inside. Once I do, he slides it closed behind me and it locks into place with a loud _CLANK! _I jump at the sound, not so much because it startled me, but because instinctively I know that I am now trapped, caged in, and the uncertainty of how long it will be until I'm released terrifies me.

"Have a seat, Gilbert," Officer McKittrick advises, "Your bus isn't due to arrive for two more hours."

With a resigned sigh, I slump down to sit on the hard, wooden bench provided for me within my holding cell. It is uncomfortable, but it gives me a good vantage point from which to view the many scribbles and profanities previous occupants left on the walls. I wonder why the court officials wouldn't paint over it all, but upon closer inspection I realize the wall _has _been painted over, probably many times. I guess when in a holding cell, there are only so many things one can do to occupy their time. At least while scribbling 'Fuck the Police' on the wall, your mind wouldn't be worrying about the punishment just acquired. I decide against adding to the scribbles, not just because I don't have a pen or sharp object on hand, but because the things on my mind aren't so easily averted by distraction.

I can't help but feel that even though I am innocent of the crime, the punishment is fitting. That doesn't mean that I'm okay with being sent away to juvie, or that I'm any less frightened than I was before the verdict was given, but maybe I'm finally accepting what will be. I didn't physically kill my parents, but they were out that late because of me, driving on that road because of me, and distracted because of me. The chain of events that lead to Dad driving off the bridge and into the river below was set into motion by _me. _So, while I don't think that I deserve to go to jail for the rest of my life over an accident I couldn't prevent, I do think that I should be punished. Spending the next fourteen months in juvie might be the very thing that I deserve. Now there is no denying what happened and my involvement in it; it might be called an accident but that doesn't mean I was not to blame. Now there's no way to ignore the guilt that I feel gnawing at my belly every minute of every day. I must face the truth; my parents are dead and it _is _my fault.

After that gut-wrenching epiphany, I feel the strong urge to throw up again, but with no where to do so I force myself to take long, deep breaths until the nauseated feeling passes. I spend some time picking lint off the perfectly pressed, black business skirt and matching blazer which Richard insisted I wear to court. He said appearances are half the battle, but apparently counts for shit when your fate has already been decided. I regret the outfit choice now that I'm sitting behind bars, and the wool of the blazer is uncomfortable and itchy. I slide out of the jacket, feeling slightly better with just the plain, white button-up blouse I had on underneath. Then, I spend some more time braiding and re-braiding my long brown locks of hair.

Half-way through a particularly complex French braid, McKittrick is called away on his walkie and returns a few minutes later with a dark-skinned teen in tow. He uses his key-card to unlock the holding cell beside mine and place her inside. Before returning to his seat behind the large L-shaped desk, he introduces, "Gilbert, meet your new buddy, Bennett. You two will be spending a lot of time together over at good old Mystic Falls' Detention Center. Play nice." He smiles mockingly.

Bennett's green eyes meet mine momentarily, and she flashes me a very small, closed-lip smile as she perches on the edge of the wooden bench in her cell. She is wearing dark skinny jeans, a bright purple tank top, and a tight leather jacket which she hugs even tighter to her body. Her overall appearance could be seen as 'tough' or maybe even intimidating, but the way she is nervously fidgeting in place and that hesitant smile makes me think she's not as tough as she'd like to be. I wonder what she's being sent to juvie for, but I know better than to ask. Obviously, aside from the question being rude, it would probably mean that it will be returned to me, and then what will I say? I'm not going to walk around juvie telling the other kids that I killed my parents, but if I walk around denying it what will they think of me then?

After a full minute of silence, during which Officer McKittrick started clicking around on his computer and smiling about something that makes me wonder if he's doing something inappropriate, Bennett speaks. "Hey," She whispers to me, almost inaudibly.

I jerk my head in her direction in surprise, not sure if she's talking to me. When I see that she is, I whisper back just as quiet, "Hey…?"

"I'm Bonnie," She tells me while she looks me over, maybe trying to figure me out.

I consider ignoring her silent question of giving my own name and decide that maybe Bonnie is just as scared as I am, and she's looking for a friend. So, giving her the benefit of the doubt, I return, "Elena." I reach a hand through the bars that separate us and Bonnie shakes my hand, a small smile playing on her lips.

When she releases my hand, she quietly asks, "How long have you been here?"

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I reply, "Almost two hours."

"First timer?" She guesses, and correctly, too.

I nod, chewing on the corner of my lip. "You?"

Before she can answer, McKittrick looks up from his computer screen and snaps, "Who told you to talk? Shut your mouths!"

Bonnie and I exchange a look of slight annoyance, but we obey the order. Not even a full minute later, McKittrick is called from the room once again by the ominous voice on his walkie. Bonnie waits until he's left the room before sliding closer to the bars between us on her bench and replying to my question.

"Yeah, it's my first time too." She closes her mouth and purses her lips, looking like she was going to ask something else but decided against it in the end. After a short pause, she comments, "I heard where they're sending us is one of the toughest juvenile detention centers in the whole country. It's where they send the kids who are most violent and the ones who have been kicked out of other detention centers for causing too much trouble." The shock and fear on my face must be apparent, because the next thing she says is, "You scared?"

Instead of telling her yes, yes I am scared, I state, "My lawyer conveniently kept that fact to himself. I guess he didn't want to freak me out. All he said is that it's the closest one to home, houses both girls and boys, and has a pretty good education system."

"Don't worry," Bonnie says, reading between the lines, "It can't be all that bad."

I'm not convinced, though. In fact, there's a very strong likelihood that it will be even worse than Bonnie described. It also makes me a little hesitant to continue speaking with this strange girl who wants me to be intimidated by her. If Mystic Falls' juvie is where the most violent offenders are sent then what was it that she did to get put there? I don't think I really want to know.

Our conversation is cut short when Officer McKittrick returns with yet another girl to join our group of delinquent teenagers. Instead of placing her in one of the holding cells along with Bonnie or me, the young officer unlocks both our cells and tells us to follow him. He has just received the message that our bus has arrived. While trailing after McKittrick and the two girls, I assess the new girl, who hasn't stopped crying the entire walk from the holding room to the rear exit of the building. She is blonde and pretty, even while crying, with bright blue eyes and a curvy figure. Her clothes are clearly designer and very expensive. She keeps hiccupping about this whole thing being unfair and her being innocent. She has also said she doesn't belong in this place at least three or four times. I wish she'd stop causing such a ruckus. Her panic is contagious, and it is making my hands clammy and my heart racy.

**.**

Outside the courthouse, a white short-bus with dark tinted windows and the words **Mystic Falls' Juvenile Detention Center **written across the side is waiting for us. Standing at the bottom of the stairs which lead into the bus is a handsome correctional officer who introduces himself as Alaric Saltzman, or Ric. He is tall, with light brown hair and blue-gray eyes. He seems friendly enough, which puts me at ease when he announces he'll be one of our unit supervisors and to report to him with any problems or questions we might have. The second officer, who is sitting behind the steering wheel in the driver's seat, is named John Goodyear, and he had cold blue eyes and an unfriendly smile. I don't like the vibe I feel coming off of him.

Once Ric handcuffs our hands to the seat in front of us, so that we stay in our assigned spot, he does 'roll call'. Bonnie, who is sitting in front of me, shoots me a look that says she thinks Officer Saltzman is a little weird. I'll take weird over crass and abusive, though.

"Bonnie Bennett," He reads off his chart first. Bonnie waves a hand at him and he checks her off on his list. "Caroline Forbes?" Ah, so that is the blubbering blonde's name. She still hasn't stopped crying. I'm almost embarrassed for her, but I shouldn't be. That could've been me too. "And you must be Elena Gilbert."

Ric's eyes on are me now, and I nod my head and find my voice, "That's me."

"All right, Goodyear," Ric calls up to the front of the bus, "We're good to go!"

Goodyear pulls the lever to slide the bus door closed and then he takes off, pulling out onto the street and merging with traffic. I settle into my seat and listen to Officer Saltzman as he informs us girls that we have one more stop before we're 'home'. We have to pick a few boys up from the courthouse a couple towns over. Two seats ahead of me, I see a blonde head perk up.

Caroline sniffles before asking hopefully, "Uh, boys? Did you say there will be boys there?" I roll my eyes. The first thing she says since her dramatic entrance and it has to be something idiotic. Maybe she was right; she really doesn't belong here.

"Yes, Miss Forbes," Goodyear replies, "But don't sound so excited. They're not there for your enjoyment. And they're not the type of boys you want to get involved with."

_He can say that again, _I think to myself. For all our sakes, I hope the boys are locked up very far away from the girls. I can't risk getting caught up in any kind of trouble, and Richard already said that boys are definitely trouble. I am to stay away from them at all costs.

Twenty minutes later, Goodyear guides the bus off the highway and pulls into the parking lot of a courthouse which looks nearly identical to the one we just vacated. Unlike with us girls, the boys are ready and waiting outside, lined up against the brick walls with their hands cuffed like three actual criminals. Two officers stand on either side, their eyes trained to the boys in case any of them should try and escape. Again, I wonder what crime each of them committed as I look them over through the tinted glass of the bus window. All three of them are handsome, dangerously so, and a shiver runs through me that I can't control.

Officer Saltzman hops off the bus to give the boys the same spiel he gave us, the only difference being that he leads them on the bus one at a time and securely cuffs them to their assigned seats. The first boy is blonde, with the broad shoulders of a football player and the sheepish smile of a kid who knows he messed up big time. He is seated across the aisle from Caroline, who turns her big blue eyes on him and actually smiles. The second boy is also tall and muscular, like the first, with light brown hair, a defined jaw, and green eyes. At least, I think they're green. He only looks up for a moment, and then his eyes are back on the floor. Again, like the first boy, he looks like he knows he's in trouble and deeply regrets whatever crime he committed to get where he is now. Ric cuffs him to the chair across the aisle from Bonnie.

The third and final boy to board the bus is different from the rest. He has dark hair, black as a raven's feathers, which hangs across his forehead in a disheveled yet also neat fashion. His eyes are the bluest that I think I've ever seen, and quite captivating as well. The one thing that really makes him stand out from the rest though is the defiant smirk which sits on his ruby lips. _He's not sorry. _Whatever it is that he did, he's not sorry for, and I can see it plainly on his face. He's trouble. He's definitely trouble, and I will be sure to stay away from him.

Once he's handcuffed to the seat beside mine, Ric calls out each of their names in alphabetical order, like he did for the girls. "Stefan Davis." That's the green-eyed guy. "Matthew Donovan." That's the blonde. "And Damon Salvatore."

Without meaning to, I turn my head and meet his gaze. Damon, as he's called, smirks as he obviously checks me out. "That's my name," He says to Ric while still looking at me. Quieter, he adds, "I'm sure you won't forget it."

I frown at him and return my gaze to the front of the bus. As it starts moving once again, this time towards our final destination, I hear Damon murmur under his breath, "Here we go. Off to another dog pound. I wonder how fucked up this one'll be."

_Oh yeah, _I confirm, _That one is definitely trouble!_

**.**

**So, that's it! What did you think? Please leave your comments in the little box below :)**


	2. Chapter 2 Level 1, Unit 4

**Thanks so much for following, favoriting, and reviewing my newest Delena story! I am really glad you like it so far. Things are going to get wild. Just a few side-notes: 1. John 'Goodyear' is John Gilbert, but obviously I had to change his last name so I chose Goodyear based off one of the correctional officers in the movie Dog Pound. 2. Same goes for Stefan; his last name is also taken from a character in Dog Pound. 3. You will probably see other TVD characters appear with last names that are unfamiliar, but they are the same characters. I think that is it. Enjoy! Let me know what you think.**

**We Are The Youth Gone Wild**

**Chapter 2: Level 1, Unit 4**

**.**

"Wakey, wakey, Gilbert."

I've always hated that moment of waking up in an unfamiliar place and completely forgetting where you are or how you got there. It happened back at the hospital the morning after my parents' death, when I had a brief, blissful moment of complete ignorance before remembering the truth and feeling shattered. In fact, every morning all week has been the same, except for this morning when I was awoken by Richard at 5am. This morning, I didn't need a reminder because I barely slept a wink last night; my mind was too occupied with thoughts of the trial and what Judge Tanner's decision in regards to me would be. I'm not actually sure I fell asleep at all, which is why I'm not totally surprised I fell asleep on the bus. What does surprise me, however, is opening my eyes to Officer John Goodyear's face inches away from my own.

_Lucky me._

The immediate realization that the bus isn't moving and I obviously fell asleep somewhere during the two hour ride to Mystic Falls' Juvenile Detention Center causes me to sit upright in a flash. The stiff muscles in my neck cry out in protest and I wince while Goodyear un-cuffs my wrists from the seat in front of me. He seems amused by my obvious discomfort, and I decide that I dislike him even more than I did before.

"Sorry princess," Goodyear says facetiously, "Looks like you could use some beauty rest…but you won't be getting much of that here."

Ignoring him as best I can, I rub the sleep out of my eyes and stretch my limbs whilst assessing the now unmoving bus. Officer Saltzman stands at the front, closest to the door, and is speaking into a small gray walkie-talkie. The others have all been unlocked from their handcuffs and are stretching their arms and legs like I am, all except for Damon Salvatore. Goodyear is taking his sweet time setting him free, even if it is only to walk him from a small cage to an even bigger one.

I take this moment to evaluate the facility we've just arrived at, not really knowing what to expect. The large, two-story building is made of red brick and looks very much like any old regular high school. Obviously, it's not. I mean, regular high schools aren't surrounded by 12-foot tall fences with barbed wire wrapped around the top. Regular high schools feature windows, usually many windows, and they don't have doors that lock the students inside. Aside from those major differences though, I could pretend this is a high school; it makes it seem much less scary that way.

"I've got my eye on you, Damon," Goodyear warns the dark-haired delinquent seated to my left, "I know what you're here for, and I know what you think you're capable of, but let me make this real clear for you: You won't get away with it here."

Damon pretends not to have heard Officer Goodyear.

Goodyear leans in closer to the teen and says in a low, threatening tone, "Was that clear enough for you?"

Damon catches my eye for a moment before flicking his blue-eyed gaze back to the C.O. in front of him. "Yes, sir," He replies without missing a beat.

Without warning, Goodyear straightens up and hollers, "Line up!"

I am startled right out of my seat and onto my feet. Goodyear smirks as he stalks away from me and Damon towards Saltzman. I shake my head and sigh, hoping that Goodyear won't be an officer I have to spend too much time with. I don't think I could stand waking up to him every morning and having to put up with him all day long. Actually, I shouldn't judge him so soon; there are going to be dozens of more officers inside the building who could be far worse than Goodyear here is.

"Shitty lawyer?" Damon says questioningly as he rises to his feet as well, inching his way out into the small aisle between our seats.

I look at him but he's not looking at me, and his words don't make sense, so I reply slowly, "I…beg your pardon?"

His intensely blue eyes turn in my direction and he explains, "I couldn't help but notice that you're dressed pretty fancy for the juvie bus." After a brief pause, he continues, his eyes watching my face for a reaction, "So I figured the only explanation is that you had a really shitty lawyer who couldn't get you off on probation or community service. Am I right?" He looks quite sure of himself.

I glance down at my business-like outfit and inwardly curse again for not bringing a change of clothes. I guess it doesn't matter now, it's too late. Soon, they'll take these clothes from me and stick me in some ugly prison uniform anyways.

"No," I find myself replying, "No he is a really good lawyer, actually."

Damon doesn't look too disappointed me was wrong. He nods before asking boldly, "Oh. Then what'd you do?"

My cheeks heat up under his gaze and I frown as I tell him, "It's none of your business."

Damon shrugs, silently agreeing with me that it isn't his business. He doesn't say anything else as the six of us delinquents stand at attention, waiting to be lead to our temporary home-away-from-home. Once Saltzman and Goodyear are finished conversing with each other, and we are told to follow them, Damon finds his voice again.

"I know who you are."

I feel like the wind was knocked right out of my chest upon hearing those words. How could he possibly know who I am? Richard promised to keep my name out of the press! He said he wouldn't let the media air my picture, my name, or anything about me, and because I'm still sixteen for another seven weeks it should have been easy to do. Someone has to sign a release for a minor's information to be revealed to the public. How could this happen? My whole life is ruined!

I stop in my tracks, causing Damon and I to fall behind Bonnie, Stefan, and the others. I whip around to face Damon, the words flowing out of my mouth before I really have time to think them over. "How dare you…? You have no idea who I am! You know _nothing! _And whatever it is you think you know, you're wrong! You're fucking wrong."

"Hey, whoa! What's going on back here?" Officer Saltzman hollers at us before marching over and demanding answers for the dispute between myself and the dark-haired bad boy that I should never have allowed to get under my skin.

My cheeks redden in embarrassment and immediately I open my mouth to apologize, but Damon beats me to the punch line.

"Sorry, sir," Damon fesses up, "It was my fault. I was antagonizing her. I shouldn't have done that. It's just been so long since I've seen a pretty girl, I couldn't resist."

_He's full of shit…_

"Don't let it happen again." Saltzman tells Damon pointedly. He then puts an arm on my shoulder and states, "Elena, you're up here with me now," as he guides me to the front of the line and positions me directly behind him and Officer Goodyear.

I glance back at Damon only one time, expecting to see him smirking glibly for getting me in trouble before officially entering juvie, or maybe even bothering Bonnie now that he can't harass me further. He's not doing either. Instead, he is staring, at _me_, and the expression on his face isn't mocking but curious. He looks interested, like a scientist with a new specimen to study, and I don't like it one bit. Actually, I do kind of like it, and that is exactly why I need to ensure I stay far away from Damon Salvatore. I thought he was trouble when he first stepped on the bus, and now I _know_ he's trouble. If I don't stay away, I'm sure things won't look good for me in here.

But there is one thing I don't think I'll be able to drop, despite knowing it could get me in trouble. _He said that he knows who I am. _How does he know me? I need to know.

**.**

Inside the detention center, our group splits off into two: Officer Goodyear takes the boys through a door on the right, while Officer Saltzman leads us girls through a door on the left. We are placed inside of a room that has three chairs, a long table, and a large mirror that covers most of one wall, which I bet is a two-way mirror like the ones at the police station. There are probably a few C.O.'s on the other side observing us at this very moment. On top of the table sits three empty gray bins. Other than that, the room is empty.

"OK girls, have a seat," Saltzman suggests, "Officers Fleming and Rogers will be in with you momentarily to start your admission process."

After he steps out and closes the door behind him, Caroline groans and covers her face with her hands. Though it is muffled, I can still hear her say, "Oh no, guys! They're gonna check our bum-holes now!"

My eyes widen and I look to Bonnie, who meets my gaze, her expression both confused and disgusted. "Are you hiding something up there, Caroline?" Bonnie questions the blonde.

Caroline's head shoots up, her face indignant, and she cries out, "No! Of course not! I just…don't want…to be cavity-searched. It's so degrading."

"That's kind of the point," Bonnie says with a roll of her green eyes. She then asks, "Have you been searched there before?"

"No," Caroline admits. "But I have an aunt who is a police officer, so I know how it works."

Satisfied with Caroline's answer, Bonnie turns to me. First I think she's going to ask me if I've ever had a cavity search performed on me before, but she takes another direction. "So, you," Bonnie stares expressly, "What _was_ that outside?"

"What was what?" I ask, pretending to be clueless. Bonnie isn't buying it. "Oh…_that._ It was nothing. I shouldn't have let him get under my skin."

"But what did he say?" Bonnie presses, only the door opens then and two female correctional officers stroll in, making it impossible for me to elaborate.

The first officer, whose nametag reads **Isobel Fleming**, has jet black hair and aqua blue eyes. She is pretty, but her face is stern, and she immediately barks out an order. "On your feet, girls!" The second female, this one much younger, has wavy blonde hair and grey eyes. She stands next to Fleming, arms crossed in front of her chest, and remains silent. Her nametag reads **Jules Rogers**.

Caroline, Bonnie, and I all obey the order thrown at us by Officer Fleming. We rise to our feet and wait while Fleming reads over something on the clipboard in her hands. Rogers stares at us with a cool gaze. Caroline fidgets beside me. Bonnie is still as a statue. Officer Fleming looks up and her face hardens. She passes the clipboard to Officer Rogers.

"Hello girls. I am Officer Fleming, and that is how you will address me." She says in an all-business tone, "This is Officer Rogers. Along with Officer Saltzman, we run units 3 and 4. Should you have any questions or concerns, you will report to one of us. Should you break one of the rules, you will report to us for punishment. Is that understood?"

Surprisingly, all three of us respond, "Yes, Ma'am."

She takes a moment to look each of us in the eye before she continues, "You are here because you are in need of reform. We are not here to punish you or make your lives miserable. We are here to correct your wrong-doings and put you back on track so you can be reintegrated in the outside world. This is not a place you want to be, so do not get too comfortable. You will maintain an education. You will be worked harder than you have ever worked in your life. You will admit your crime and be regretful of it. If you do all of these things and you stay out of trouble, you could earn yourself an early release. I'm sure all of you would like to get out of here sooner rather than later. Do yourselves a favor and keep your head low and don't break the rules." After a breath, she orders, "Take off your clothes, fold them, and place them in the gray bins provided. Remove all accessories: watches, jewelry, hair ties and hair clips. All of your items will be returned to you upon your release."

We must have been staring in shock for too long, because Officer Rogers starts clapping her hands together and instructs us to, "Strip, ladies. Faster. We don't have all day."

I knew this would happen at some point, but it doesn't make it any less humiliating. I inwardly groan before slipping out of my black heels and stepping onto the cold tile floor with my bare feet. I slide out of my brand new pair of pantyhose and place them at the bottom of the plastic bin along with my shoes. I can see Caroline out of the corner of my eye remove her very expensive Burberry trench-coat and fold it painstakingly into a perfectly pressed bundle which she carefully puts in her designated bin. She then starts removing her sparkly diamond earrings and matching diamond hair clips. Bonnie has taken off her boots and leather jacket and easily tosses her purple tank into the bin on top of her other belongings. Following her lead, I decide to take the plunge and get it over with. I unzip my skirt, let it drop to my feet, and then start unbuttoning my white blouse. It is in this exact moment that I realize I left my black business jacket in the holding cell back at the courthouse. Oh well, I won't be needing it now anyways.

"Caroline," Officer Fleming instructs the still-clothed blonde, "You're not going to make things difficult for us, are you?"

"No," Caroline murmurs. She sighs heavily before turning her back in my direction and asking, "Can you unzip me?"

I stop reaching for my bra strap and instead reach for the zipper on the back of Caroline's black Dolce & Gabbana floral printed dress. She thanks me while she shrugs out of it, and I tell her not to worry about it as I remove my modest white lace bra and matching panties. I cup my bare breasts to cover them as much as I can and try not to visibly shiver from the cool air on my exposed skin. I sure as fuck hope this is the only time we'll be doing a strip search here at juvie. I do not want to have to get used to flashing my naughty bits at all the officers.

Once Caroline, Bonnie, and I have removed all jewelry, unapproved accessories and clothes, Officers Fleming and Rogers stare at us unnervingly for a few minutes. They observe us from the front, from the side, and from the back. They make us open our mouths wide so that can shine a flashlight inside. The final, and most disturbing, thing that they do is ask us to turn around, bend over, and spread our ass cheeks wide so they can be sure we haven't tried to smuggle drugs in our anus. To be double-sure, they instruct us to cough deeply a few times. _I can't believe Caroline was right…_

"You may get dressed now," Rogers says to our backs, and we all gratefully reach for the juvie uniform provided for us. "Then take a seat. Nurse Fell will be in to take some blood from each of you before Officer Saltzman will show you to your room."

Mystic Falls' uniform isn't as bad as I thought it would be. I was picturing those hideous orange jumpsuits they always wear on TV, but it turns out we're just required to wear black sweatpants and a matching black t-shirt with the words MF Juvenile Detention Center written in bold white font. We are provided with plain cotton panties and bras, which look like the ones I used to wear in middle school, but at least they are the correct size. We are also told by Rogers that we get three pairs of pants, four t-shirts, two bras, and six pairs of underwear, all of which we are responsible for washing. Apparently Officer Saltzman is going to give us a grand tour of the place and tell us all the important things we need to know, like where the cafeteria is and what our chore duties are. I'm sure that is going to be boat-loads of fun.

A knock on the door announces the arrival of Mystic Falls' juvie nurse, whose name is Meredith Fell. She is a nice, young lady with kind brown eyes and a warm smile. She speaks to us like normal people and not unforgiveable criminals like some have. She is gentle when she takes a few vials of blood from each of us. Then, she thanks us and is on her way.

While Officer Rogers speaks into her walkie, Officer Fleming pronounces, "All right, ladies, you're all set. We've finished with the admissions process. Officer Saltzman will be right in to start your orientation. Your first week here is considered an orientation as we like to slowly settle you into life here at Mystic Falls. By this time next week, you'll know all the rules and expectations, and you'll be treated the same as everybody else. Remember everything that I told you this afternoon. It is very important that you don't treat this like a game. This is your life! Don't mess up and spend it behind bars."

**.**

Ric, as Officer Saltzman insists we may call him, begins our tour just outside of the admissions offices. He tells us we won't be seeing this part of the detention center again until we are being released. The closest we'll get to these doors at the entrance of the building is the visitors' lounge, which is a large open room with many tables in which the delinquents can meet with their family or friends once a week for one hour. Beyond the visitors' lounge is the first set of gates that lead deeper into the building. Ric refers to it as Gate 1, and explains that we are passing through Unit 1, one of the boys' units. Each unit houses thirty offenders. There are ten units total in Mystic Falls' Juvenile Detention Center, so about three-hundred delinquents, give or take.

"You three are joining Unit 4." While we walk, Ric explains our current rank in juvie to us, and how we can improve or worsen our rank according to our behavior. "You are what we call Level 1's. Everyone who enters this facility starts off in Level 1. This means that you have a clean slate. Anything and everything you do from this day forward will reflect on your rank. Good behavior is rewarded, and if you are consistently doing the right thing, the highest reward is to pass on to Level 2." Ric has to pause in his explanation of the ranking system to speak into his walkie so that we may be buzzed through Gate 2. "Level 2's are usually referred to as Trustees, and you will know who they are by their shirts, which are red polo's rather than the black t-shirts. They also have the option to wear khaki pants."

Wow, they get to wear a different outfit. Whoop-de-doo! What's the big deal?

"Aside from the clothes, trustees are given privileges that Level 1's are not offered, such as better job opportunities within the facility and longer recreational time. Trust me, you want to be a trustee," Ric assures us, "You will enjoy your time here much more if you take advantage of the chances being given to you."

As Ric leads us up a metal staircase to the second floor, two girls are coming down the stairs. One is wearing the same outfit that Bonnie, Caroline and myself were given, but the other, a tall and very pretty brunette, is wearing the dreaded orange jumpsuit that I first thought we'd be sporting. She has the jumpsuit unzipped in the front to reveal quite a bit of her voluptuous cleavage. The two girls pause to wave at Officer Saltzman.

"Hi Ric," The blonde one bats her long eyelashes.

"Rebekah," Ric greets her first, and then tips his head in the other girl's direction, "Katherine. Where are you girls off to?"

"Oh, just popping in to see Miss Somers about our homework assignment," Rebekah replies, while Katherine smirks at us new girls.

"Make it quick," Ric instructs, "Dinner is in thirty minutes. And Kat zip up your top. You know you aren't allowed to show that much skin."

Katherine sighs before doing as he says and then she and Rebekah continue on down the stairs. On the back of the orange jumpsuit are the words **Special Unit**. I look questioningly at Ric, intending on asking him about it, but he is already taking long strides further down the hallway.

When the three of us catch up, Ric continues speaking as if there were never an interruption, "On the other end of the spectrum, we also have punishments for those who do not follow the rules and who continuously cause problems here for us. We call those Specials. Those wearing orange currently belong in Special Unit, which is more commonly known as solitary. If you get in a fight, you've earned yourself a night or two in Special Unit, and a two-week probation. You'll get yourself a nice orange jumpsuit and privileges will be taken away. Special Unit is not where you want to be."

No, he's right. It's not where I want to be. I want a red polo. I want to get out of here!

At the end of the hall, we are buzzed through yet another gate, this time labeled Gate 4. We have reached our final destination.

"Here we are," Ric says as he stops in the doorway of a large dormitory with fifteen bunk beds spread throughout the room, "Unit 4. Welcome home."

**.**

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